


Taking the Right Steps

by Northern_Star



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Eric is injured at World's, Jeff flies down to Raleigh to keep him company while he recovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Right Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/gifts).



> Written on a prompt from kayim, just after the tournament ended. It took me forever to get this done, because everything takes me forever to write now... sorry!
> 
> Huge thanks to Ava for the assist (pun intended) and the encouragement.

Jeff doesn't actually notice how or when it happens. He's sitting on the bench and getting a towel from a trainer, his back turned to the ice, when he hears someone yelping with pain. All of a sudden the guys on the bench are on their feet, muttering curses under their breath.

The first thing Jeff sees when he turns around to look is a teammate smashing his stick at center ice. Then he sees Eric, writhing in pain near a face-off circle in the offensive zone, and Jeff suddenly feels sick to his stomach. The tips of his fingers are turning white from hanging on to the top of the boards in front of him, his every instinct screaming at him to jump over and rush to Eric's side. But he'll be ejected from the game if he jumps on the ice now, and he knows it perfectly well. Besides, Eric would hate him for it, and that's really the biggest incentive for Jeff to stay put.

He watches, forcing himself to breathe in and out, as teammates help Eric off the ice and back to the dressing room. Play resumes shortly thereafter, and Jeff tries as hard as he can to keep his head in the game. There's over four minutes to go in the first period, and then two more, and...they need to win this game, else it's all over for Canada at World's. They need to win this game, and Jeff promises himself that they're going to — for Eric.

At intermission, the guys get told that Eric's been taken to a hospital. It seems to come as a blow to some, even though it was pretty obvious there was no way their Captain was going to be coming back out for the rest of the game. Jordan takes it the hardest, understandably.

Sitting to his right, Jeff nudges him with his shoulder. "Hey, it's going to be okay," he says, trying to sound positive and reassuring, though he's really just as worried as Jordan is.

"It better be," says Jordan, shaking his head miserably. "I mean, it has to, right? I can't be the only one of us still playing next season, that's just...no! That can't happen!"

Jeff wraps an arm around Jordan's shoulders and squeezes amicably. "It's not going to, Jordy," he promises, although knowing there's little he can do about it. "Eric will be back skating circles around both of us. Marc will too, you'll see. Relax, okay?"

"This year sucks so bad..."

"I know. I'm sorry," says Jeff. Then he takes a deep breath and, trying to be as enthusiastic as he can, he adds, "Let's go out there and win this thing for our Captain."

"Yeah, let's do this," Jordan answers, determination shining in his eyes.

In the end, though, desire alone isn’t enough to beat the Swedes, and Team Canada gets eliminated from the tournament.

—

A day and some change later, Jeff stands near the baggage claim at Pearson International, feeling kind of disoriented and lost. It's just jet lag, he reasons, and the residual numbness from the fiasco that was his team’s last game at World's. As he waits for his bags to come around on the carousel, he sends off a text message to Eric, who was supposed to have had an MRI today. Or, at least, Jeff thinks that's today — he's a little off on what today actually is, given the time change and all.

_How's it going? Any news from the dr?_

Several minutes pass but no reply comes. He spots one of his bags moving along the conveyer belt, and as he reaches to grab it, his phone beeps.

_I'mdoibg great :) No pain'_

Jeff shakes his head at his phone. They must have given Eric some pretty damn strong meds, he guesses. He starts to type up a "get better soon" message, but as he catches sight of his other bag slowly coming up on the carousel, he changes his mind. Ontario isn't where he wants to be right now — he can always come back later — today, he's going to Raleigh.

 _I'll be there soon,_ he types, before grabbing his bags and heading for the nearest ticket counter.

He's trying to work some out sort of itinerary with a ticketing agent when his phone beeps again. Eric's message reads, " _With pizza?_ " and Jeff can't help but laugh as he sends back a quick, " _You bet!_ "

Ultimately, Jeff has no choice but to wait several long hours until 9 p.m. for the next direct flight out to North Carolina. While he sits around the terminal and waits, he looks up the phone number for that pizza place he knows Eric likes and arranges for delivery. Jeff figures keeping his promise is the least he can do.

—

It's almost noon when Jeff shows up on Eric's porch, armed with a smile and a box of donuts. Jeff has barely slept since he got into town late last night — or early this morning, really — and he's been out of bed since 7, pacing his living room, waiting for it to be late enough that he could drive to Eric's house and not wake him up. Eric is recovering from a pretty bad injury, and he needs all the rest he can get. Besides, Jeff knows better than anyone that showing up at his captain's door before 11 a.m. on a day that doesn't begin with morning practice at the rink is a serious health hazard.

He rings the doorbell and waits for a little while, then rings again, shifting his weight from one foot to another nervously. There's still no answer, so he tries to peer through the small, frosted glass on the side of the door, but sees nothing at all. He risks pressing his ear to the door, but there's no sound that he can make out; he hadn't really expected to hear anything since the door is massive, but it was worth a shot anyway.

With a sigh, he takes his phone out of his pocket, then turns and sits on the front stairs, setting the donuts beside him. He dials and waits, holding his breath.

"What?" comes the angry answer on the other end. Jeff guesses this means the meds have worn off.

"Hey, it's Jeff," he says as gently as he can.

There's a long pause on the other end. "Hi, Jeff," Eric finally says, sounding mollified. "Back on this side of the ocean?"

"Uh..." Jeff begins, then chuckles despite himself. "Sitting on your front porch, actually. Are you home?"

"Oh. I thought that was—" Eric sighs audibly. "It doesn't matter."

"Mind letting me in? I brought donuts..."

Laughing, Eric replies, "Just let yourself in, dumbass. I know you still have a key."

"Oh, right, yeah," Jeff mumbles before hanging up. 

Eric’s house key dangles off the keyring, between Jeff’s car key and the one to his own home. It’s the same place it’s been since Jeff looped it on, the day he moved in, one of two rookies rooming with their Captain, while they were on the bubble. Eric didn’t ask for his house key back when Jeff moved out a few months later, and in part due to laziness and in bigger part to silly sentimentality, Jeff has never bothered to return it either. He’s never used it since moving out, and would never have allowed himself to use it without permission either — his mom has taught him better manners than that. In fact, it feels a little strange to be able to let himself into someone else’s home. Maybe today would be a good day to return that key, Jeff tells himself as he enters the house and closes the door again.

He finds Eric in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his injured leg propped up and a bag of mostly-melted ice sitting on top of his knee. From the looks of it, Eric’s maid hasn’t been by in a few days — the coffee table is buried under boxes of take-out food and empty Gatorade bottles. There’s a newspaper on the floor, and halfway between the table and the TV, a wastebasket around which lay some bunched up tissues — someone apparently sucks at hoops. Granted, Eric’s mobility is limited, but Jeff is a little worried to see the normally very neat and well-kept room in such shambles, though he smiles a little at the sight of the pizza box which he knows was delivered last night — it’s open all the way, and completely empty.

Jeff stops himself just short of asking if Eric is doing all right. He knows he’ll just get rolled eyes and sarcasm in answer. Instead, he hands the box of donuts over to Eric, and with a smile, says, “Here, I got all your favorites. I can make some coffee, if you like?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Eric replies, then immediately frowns and admits, “I don’t remember if there’s any left, though...”

Jeff shakes his head a little, trying to hide a smile. “When’s the last time Mrs. Moreno came by, anyway?” he asks, then grabs a few discarded boxes off the coffee table, intent on cleaning up the place at least a tiny little bit.

Eric shrugs. “She’s on vacation somewhere to visit her family, I think?” He takes a chocolate-glazed donut out of the box and bites into it. “S’good,” he says, his mouth full, “thanks, man.”

“Sure,” says Jeff as he heads off toward the kitchen. “Couldn’t you get anyone else to help, though?” he calls, over his shoulder.

“Yeah, like who?” Eric calls back, snorting derisively. “Everyone’s gone home weeks ago. I wasn’t supposed to be either, but now I get to spend half the summer seeing doctors and trainers and all that fun shit.” He mumbles something else that Jeff doesn’t really catch and knows better than to ask about.

In the kitchen, Jeff throws out the empty boxes and stuffs an empty trash bag into his back pocket so he’ll be able to throw the rest away. Then he starts looking through Eric’s pantry for some coffee; there’s only a little left, but he figures it’ll do and starts a pot brewing.

“There’s enough for a couple cups,” he tells Eric upon coming back to join him in the living room. “Might not be the strongest coffee you’ve ever had, though.” He pulls the trash bag out of his back pocket, then starts tossing things into it.

After a while, Eric asks, “Why are _you_ here, anyway?”

“Mmm?” Jeff looks up, frowning, debating his response. He’s pretty sure that saying he was worried about Eric would not go over too well. Finally, Jeff settles on, “I just figured you’d enjoy the company.” Then, somewhat dejectedly, he adds, “Why? Would you rather I left?” and braces himself for the answer.

“No, of course not,” says Eric and he rolls his eyes a little too theatrically to seem even remotely spontaneous. “Clearly I need some help, here. But I meant... Look, I know you were supposed to go back home — home to _Ontario_ — after the tournament. So why are you _here_.”

Jeff looks back at Eric, breathing out slowly, before finally saying, “I think you know why,” in a small, uncertain tone. 

Why bother lying about it? He’s had feelings for Eric for a very long time, and Eric knows it perfectly well, too. It’s why Jeff moved out so suddenly, barely a couple of months after moving in, following an incredibly awkward “but you’re so much younger than me” discussion that Jeff wishes he could forget all about. Sadly, there’s no off-switch for feelings.

Eric nods at him, and Jeff could almost swear there was a hint of a smile there as well, but he just as well might have imagined it. He silently goes back to his self-assigned cleaning duties.

—

When Jeff lefts himself into Eric’s house, the third morning in a row, he no longer even feels strange doing it.

“Don’t you get tired of driving all the way out here every day?” Eric asks when Jeff walks into the living room. Eric is always sitting in the living room, it’s like he barely ever moves from that couch at all.

Jeff frowns at him. “Don’t you get tired of sitting here all day long?”

“No, I wasn’t—” Eric begins, then sighs. “That wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic. Only that you drive, what, forty-five minutes or about, twice a day, just to keep me company."

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me..."

Eric shrugs. "I guess that's true." he says. "But what I'm trying to say is..." he hesitates a moment, then finally says, "wouldn't it be less trouble for you if you just slept over?"

"Oh." Jeff blinks, surprised. "Yeah, I guess that'd be less trouble." He smiles as he adds, “I suppose it could be fun sleeping in my old room again.”

“Just so you know... I've been sleeping there this week,” Eric tells him, and Jeff could swear he sounds embarrassed about it, too. “It’s too much trouble trying to drag myself upstairs with a bum knee, so...”

“Right, of course, that makes sense,” Jeff mumbles, feeling stupidly heartbroken over a room he slept in a couple dozen times at most. “I’ll find one upstairs, no worries,” he says as he heads off to the kitchen, in need of coffee and something to think about that isn’t related to sleeping arrangements.

He returns to the living room a little later, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, and notices a definite stench as he sets the mugs down on the small coffee table.

“Dude,” he says, wrinkling his nose, looking over to Eric, “when’s the last time you showered?”

Eric groans in response. “I tried, but I can’t fucking stand there on one leg or bring the crutches in with me, it’s too damn slippery to be safe. I’ve been...you know...washing up at the sink. Apparently not well enough.”

“ _Definitely_ not well enough,” says Jeff in a chuckle. “C’mon, get up, I’ll give you a hand.”

“You’ll _what_?”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “I’ll help you shower,” he says. “You can lean on me, or whatever. I’ll make sure you don’t slip. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Are you mad?” says Eric petulantly. “We’re not showering together!”

Again, Jeff rolls his eyes. “You do realize we do it after every game, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not... It’s not the same thing! This is... it’s—”

“What?” Jeff cuts in, frowning. “ _Wrong_? Why? Because I’m gay, is that it?”

“No! No, that’s not it,” Eric protests, waving his hands frantically. “It’s just weird, okay? And not because you’re gay. You know I don’t care that you are. I’ve told you before; a million times, even. It doesn’t matter. This is just... it’s a small enclosed space... and it’s.. it’s weird, all right?”

“I promise I’ll make this as clinical as I possibly can,” Jeff tells him. Then making the corresponding gesture, he adds, “Cross my heart.”

“I said no.”

“Let me put it this way,” says Jeff in a small sigh, “It’s either that, or you can run your own damn errands and cook your own food, ‘cause I ain’t hanging out with you stinking that much. Seriously, man. I’m not spending any more time here until you shower.”

Eric stares at Jeff for a long moment, as if to challenge him and see if he’ll back down, but Jeff doesn’t look away. Eventually, Eric gives up. “All right, _fine_ ,” he sighs, before clumsily hoisting himself up from the sofa.

—

They’ve made it all the way to the bathroom, out of their clothes and into the shower, which Jeff had turned on to a nice, warm temperature beforehand. He’s pretty proud of the fact that he’s managed all of this without anything awkward happening — he’s pretty sure Eric would have changed his mind again, otherwise. And the thing is... Jeff really _is_ doing this for Eric’s sake, and not simply for his own personal enjoyment — though he’d be lying if he said there was none of that whatsoever, because clearly there is. But it's not about that. This is only about being helpful.

The problem, however, is that it’s a small shower — the one upstairs is much larger, but Eric didn’t want to have to hop all the way there — and so it means they’re really very close, no matter how much Jeff tries to remain at a “safe” distance. The truth is they’re rubbing against one another constantly, more so than Jeff had imagined they might, and it’s taking all of his self-control to keep himself in check and hide the fact that he finds this a little arousing. Maybe slightly more than a little, even.

Somehow, while Jeff isn’t paying attention — or rather, while he's trying very hard not to pay any attention — the bar of soap slips out of Eric’s hand and lands on the tiled floor. Eric curses under his breath. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his face going red.

Jeff shrugs, tells him to hold on for a second, then bends down to pick up the bar of soap. On the way up, however, he glimpses what he believes might have been the reason why Eric looked so embarrassed just before... Eric, apparently, also finds the situation arousing; at least, judging by the fact he’s about halfway to a full hard-on, he does. Jeff smirks as he stands up and offers Eric the soap.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” says Eric, eyes narrow, an expression on his face that looks somewhat — but not quite — like annoyance.

“Enjoying what?” Jeff asks, in a falsely innocent tone. "You mean the fact that I'm having some sort of effect on you?" He turns his hips just enough for his dick — also well on its way to a full hard-on — to lightly brush against Eric's thigh, then sarcastically adds, "Nah, I don't enjoy things like that at all." 

Eric shakes his head, the shadow of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Look, Jeff, I made a mistake," he begins, then hesitates for a moment. Finally he sighs heavily and goes on, in an irritated tone, "Shit! The shower really isn't the place for this. Could we please get out of here?"

And though the temperature of the water spraying down on them hasn't changed at all, Jeff feels like he's just been doused with icy water. "Yeah, of course," he says with a curt nod. 

He turns the water off and carefully gets them both out of the shower, then he grabs the bathrobe that's out of Eric's reach and hands it to him. Eric mumbles a quick thank you, getting into the bathrobe and leaning back against the nearest wall for support.

"I'm sorry," Jeff says, looking away, while he wraps a towel around his own hips. "I'll get out of your way."

"Wait," says Eric, grabbing Jeff's arm as he starts to move away. "Would you please just hang on a sec and hear me out?"

"Sure," Jeff sighs.

"It's not—" Eric starts, stopping abruptly, shaking his head. "I just don't think the shower is the right place to have a conversation, you know?"

"It's all right, I understand," says Jeff, looking anywhere but at Eric. He doesn't want to see the look in his eyes while he rejects him — he's seen it once, he knows that look of pity and apology, and he never wants to see it again, especially in Eric's eyes. He also knows exactly how the rest of this conversation is going to go, because they've had it before, and that's yet another thing Jeff never wants to experience again. So, preemptively, and with his eyes fixed on the floor, he says, "I'll see if I can't find anyone else to give you a hand with stuff while you're recovering."

But instead of letting go, Eric's hand tightens on Jeff's arm. "What? No," he protests, sounding genuinely surprised. "I don't want you to _leave_." He lets go of Jeff's arm, gently forcing him to look up by lifting his chin up. "Would you look at me? Please?"

Jeff resists but only barely before looking up. He doesn't bother hiding the expression on his face. He feels rejected, crushed, and borderline heartbroken, and really doesn't see any point in attempting to look anything but. "Okay," he says, his voice uncertain, then braces himself for the impact that's coming.

"Jeff," Eric says softly, cupping his cheek just a fleeting moment. "I know what you're thinking, but that's not what I was trying to say." 

Jeff frowns, saying nothing, because he doesn't really understand at all.

"When I said I'd made a mistake, I didn't mean getting in the shower with you," says Eric. He chuckles before going on, "Then again, I'm not sure that was really very smart, either. Whatever... What I was trying to say is that I made a mistake, _three years ago_ , when I pushed you away. I was stupid back then, and I was afraid, and I'm sorry."

Blinking, Jeff mouths a silent "Oh." He doesn't know what else to say. He's just gone from thinking something might actually happen between them, to being on the verge of rejection, to finally hearing Eric apologize for turning him down three years ago — it feels like being on a roller coaster, and Jeff isn't sure anymore which way is up. He's not completely sure if Eric is simply saying sorry, or if he means to make amends, and at this point Jeff would rather not assume — chances are he'll assume wrong again and end up feeling like he's been checked into the boards for the second time this morning. So he stands still, waiting for answers to questions that are stuck halfway between his brain and his lips, and he can't bring himself to ask out loud.

"Look, uh..." Eric starts saying, a few long minutes later. "I know we can't go back in time or anything." He chuckles in a self-deprecating manner. "Oh man, how I wish that could be done! But, maybe we could start over anyway? I mean, not from the beginning, obviously, since that wouldn't make any sense, but maybe forget we ever had _that_ conversation, and go back to when you were rooming here and I wasn't being a real douche?"

"Yeah, okay," says Jeff a little hesitantly. "We could do that. I mean, I was going to sleep over for a few days anyhow, I guess, right?"

There's something a little impish about Eric's smile. "I don't want you sleeping in a guest room upstairs, though," he says. "I'd like it better if you settled into your old bedroom. I mean, if you're okay with that."

"I thought you were using that one?" Jeff asks, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Since getting upstairs is—"

"It's pretty hard, yeah," Eric supplies, nodding. He leans in a little before going on in a voice that's barely more than a whisper, "I'm trying to ask you if you'll sleep there with me, Jeff."

"Oh," Jeff breathes out, heart starting to race madly. "Oh, I... I—" he stammers, ideas refusing to travel from his brain to his mouth in words and sentences that would make any sort of sense.

"Only if you want to."

Jeff laughs at that, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink. "Oh, hell yes, I want to," he says as he grabs fistfuls of Eric's bathrobe lapels. He doesn't pull him down abruptly though, afraid to cause him to lose balance and fall, but as gently as possible closes the distance between them, pressing their lips together.

He's nervous and it's kind of awkward, and Jeff just can't get passed the fact that he's kissing _Eric_. They're standing, half-naked in a bathroom, and they're really actually kissing right now, and damned if Jeff hasn't fantasized about this exact thing a million times. Though of course, in his day-dreams, it was the best, most perfect kiss ever — while in reality he's starting to worry that Eric might not ever want to kiss him again. 

Shampoo suds drop from Eric's damp hair onto Jeff's cheek; Jeff gasps in surprise, pretty much ruining the moment. He moves away, muttering an unintelligible apology, feeling like the dumbest, most inadequate person in the universe, but Eric just wipes the suds away with his thumb, grinning. 

"Come back here," he says very softly, "I'm not done with you just yet..." He pulls Jeff back to him, gently sucking in his bottom lip before kissing him fully. 

There's nothing awkward about it this time. It's soft, and warm; it's everything Jeff has ever wanted.

"I'm sorry," Eric mumbles several times over, and Jeff only kisses him harder each time. When they pull apart, panting, Eric presses their foreheads together, and between breaths of air says, "I'm really fucking pissed off I got injured, but damn am I glad you flew down here because of it."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," says Jeff, flushing a little. It was a spur of the moment idea, and heaven knows how many time Jeff almost changed his mind while waiting for hours at Pearson for his flight, but he's sure glad he didn't.

"I'm not letting you go, this time," Eric tells him, then as a lopsided smile starts forming on his lips he adds, "In fact, I may never let you leave again."

Jeff grins widely. "You know, I think I'd be okay with that," he says, moving in for another kiss.

 

> End.


End file.
